The Terrifying Dream
by Harri-Sal
Summary: Post-Reichenbach: John has a dream, he dreams of Sherlock and there life together, before that day. but when he wakes Sherlock is still there. Has John finally gone mad? Eventual Johnlock and Mystrade.


Right, okay, Hello!

Sorry I havent posted much but I've been a little busy, I promise I will definatly get on with this story as soon as I can!

Please be nice and leave a review, constructive critisism is very welcome!

Okay! On with the story!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock and never will, if I did there would be Johnlock from the start! ;D**

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**I see you in the distance but I wish you were here, beside me.**

**John PoV**

Sherlock was walking around the room pulling a beautiful melody from the strings of his violin. John was sat in his armchair; fingers wrapped a warm mug of tea. It was perfect. An ordinary, lazy, quiet but oh-so perfect day in 221b Baker street. But it was only a matter of time until something happened, something always happened. All of a sudden Sherlock spun round and dropped his violin to the floor.

"Help me John! Please! Don't let it happen, Save Me!" Sherlock screamed, dropping to his knees in front of John's chair, John's eyes widened in fear for his flatmate and best-friend.

"I will! I'll help, I promise! Just tell me how!" John gasped grabbing hold of Sherlock's arm. Sherlock's face fell.

"Oh, John, I can't tell you… you need to figure it out yourself!" Sherlock's tears were slipping from his eyes down over his cheekbones and dropping onto the floor.

"Just give me a clue? Please, anything to help!" John pleaded tears now falling from his own eyes. Sherlock nodded once and stood up, he strode to the window and opened it as wide as it would go. He turned to look at John with pain and grief in his eyes.

"To save me John, you must first save yourself. Beware of the ever-present man, He will always be there, watching and waiting for the right moment to strike…"

With that final statement Sherlock turned and launched himself out of the open window. Both men screamed in terror, their voices mingling and becoming one, high, clear, cold note…

John jerked awake from his nightmare as Mrs Hudson tapped her knuckles on the door.

"John, dear? Are you alright? D.I Lestrade is here to see you, can I let him in?

"Uhm… Ye… Yes." Was John's shaky reply, he was as white as a sheet and he had trembling fingers.

Greg Lestrade let himself in and sat on the sofa, watching John with sad eyes.

"I was going to ask how you are but I guess I already have my answer." He said looking around the flat which was still full of Sherlock's stuff as John adamantly refused to get rid of anything even remotely connected to his best friend.

The truth was John was making himself ill. He move on with his life and fast or he may never move on at all.

"Look, mate, we need some help down at a crime scene, we're not getting anywhere! Would you please come?" Greg asked rubbing his forehead and sighing.

John looked up from his chair, an expression on his face that was part confusion, part anger and part pain.

"I'm not Sherlock. I can't help you."

"I know you're not Sherlock but you're the next best thing! Please, John ." Greg pleaded hands pressed together as if in prayer, just like Sherlock used to. John stared at Greg's hands and all of a sudden he heard a voice at the back of his mind.

"_Come on John! You can solve it!"_ John jumped, it was Sherlock's voice.

"Sherlock?!" John asked aloud.

"_Of course not, John. Don't be an idiot! This is just your imagination, but that doesn't mean you cant solve the case!"_

"John? You okay?" Greg asked, wondering why his friend had said Sherlock's name.

"Wha…? Oh sorry…" John made a split second decision and stood up, his posture practically screaming 'Military Man'

"Well? What are you waiting for? Lets go." John grinned.

Greg jumped up, surprise and relief plastered across his face, he hadn't expected John to actually come with him, he usually just sat staring into space and only talking when necessary.

The pair made their way down the stairs and into the waiting police car.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ **SHERLOCK **~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The crime scene loomed ahead, when the car pulled to a stop John climbed out and ducked under the tape.

"Why are you here?" A nasal voice said from beside the door to one of the houses.

John turned round to see Anderson sneering at him but more surprisingly Sally Donovan was glaring at the back of Andersons head.

John lifted his chin and strode past, ignoring them both, he turned the corner and entered the room where the body was laid. His eyes swept over everything in the room, just like Sherlock taught him. Not as good as Sherlock… Never as good as Sherlock but he would try."

He took in the sight of the young man laid on the floor, he crouched down and looked at his face, 'No obvious injuries here' he thought to himself. His eyes travelled down the body looking for signs of injury. There was a stab wound in the mans abdomen.

"He died from the stab wound in his stomach" Greg said from somewhere over Johns shoulder.

"_Wrong! The eyes, John!"_ John jumped out of hi skin as he heard Sherlock's voice shout from the direction of the door. John spun round to look at the door frame and almost fell over in shock when he spotted the lanky frame of the one and only Sherlock Holmes.

"What?!" John gasped staring at his best friend, his best friend who was supposed to be DEAD!

"John? What is it?" Greg asked his eyes wide with worry. Greg turned slowly to face the door, then he turned back to John.

"Can't you…?" John whispered. Then the convocation he had had with 'Sherlock' earlier hit him. Sherlock was in his imagination!

Greg blinked at him in confusion.

"Can I what?"

"Nothing… Just… Nothing." John mumbled tearing his eyes from Sherlock who was now sat in the corner smirking. He looked back at the corpse and started examining the eyes more closely.

The pupils were blown wide and were ragged at the edges. John scowled and checked the mans arms for puncture wounds, he found none. He then checked the neck and found a single puncture wound at the back.

John hummed in confusion. Sherlock jumped up and peered at the wound.

"_Very precise and professional, don't you think?"_ Sherlock raised his eyebrow at John. John looked again and gasped. The wound was right on the point where the skull met the neck. There was no way that the man could have reached behind and hit that spot and at that angle exactly! John looked again at the wound in the mans abdomen. There was blood around it but not enough… he had been stabbed after he had died! This was a murder not a suicide" John grinned and looked up at Sherlock who had a matching look of glee on his face.

"There. That would there is what killed him, not the stab wound, that was made after he was dead. The stab wound is a decoy! I do believe you're looking for a medical man!" John said to Greg pointing out the small puncture. Greg gasped.

"I can't believe we missed that! Anderson! Get in here!" Greg called through the door.

"Guess that's my cue to leave…" John muttered and Sherlock snickered.

John strode from the house feeling happier than he had done in months.

Little did he know that just a few feet away stood a very dangerous man. A man named Sebastian Moran. Sebastian knew that Sherlock really was alive and currently halfway across the world tracking and killing his colleagues. Sebastian also knew that Sherlock would never get here in time to save his precious blogger.

Is Sebastian the 'Ever Present Man' dream Sherlock had told about? And is he as dangerous as he seems?

**Sherlock PoV**

While John was dreaming a terrifying dream that shook him to the core, the real Sherlock Holmes – not some figment of Johns imagination, thank you very much – was on the other side of the globe, on top of the Sydney Opera House looking through the sight of a long range riffle.

His target was moving around the floor in front of the Opera House, waiting for something, and if Sherlock's sources were correct – and they usually were – that something was a file, a file that had a list of the names and locations of every single member of Moriarty's criminal following.

Moriarty's men had got sloppy after Jim had died, they had let slip a great number of 'Classified Details' and they were about to lose the most important piece of paper they had, Sherlock smirked to himself as he lined up the riffle.

"Only 12 more to go, and I'll be able to go home…" He muttered "That's if John still wants me…"

Sherlock frowned for a moment before focusing once again on the task ahead of him.

Sherlock watched as the man on the ground walked towards a parked car and took an A4 sized envelope from the boot.

"The file!" Sherlock grinned as he watched the car pull away. The man with the file turned and walked away from the building to a place where the general public aren't allowed, Sherlock waited until his target had stopped moving.

Then he squeezed the trigger.

The dart hit his target right on the neck, a perfect shot. He would be out for a good few hours. Sherlock up and ran across the rooftop to the fire escape. Within seconds he hit the floor just behind the sleeping man.

"I'll have that, thank you!" He smirked as he plucked the envelope from the mans limp fingers and tucked it inside his coat but just as Sherlock turned to leave an nasty voice spoke from the shadows.

"I don't think so Mister Holmes… You didn't think we would let you have the information that easily, did you?" The man stepped into the light revealing a maimed and scarred face.

"Christian Echoes, nice to finally meet you." Sherlock replied as cool and calm as ever.

Christian broke into a grin that looked more like a grimace.

"Ahh… but of course you know who I am! You're Sherlock Holmes! But let's test that mighty brain of yours shall we? Who am I?" Christian ened his sentence with a bark of forced laughter.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the man stood before him and paused for just a second and he figured out and connected all the details.

"Your name is Christian Echoes, you are 43 years old, you're originally from France but have spent most of your life here in Australia, more precisely Sydney. You had a wife and two children but… they died, they died in an armed robbery because the police failed to get there in time, that's why you became a criminal because you want to give the police hell, purely for revenge, that's how you met Moriarty, isn't it? What happened then though? What happened then? Ahh that's when you got into the big stuff, Assassination! You proved yourself useful to Moriarty didn't you? Yes, very useful, by the time he dies you were in his closest criminal circle! Only one step behind Moran himself! Good old Sebastian Moran! Oh! But you never could inch in front of Moran could you? He was always the favourite even though you were sooo much better! That's why you're here and not out there running the show, that's Moran's job isn't it? Oh and that makes you soo angry doesn't it?" Sherlock finished with a sneer and a huff of contempt.

"_Brilliant!"_ Sherlock spun round in shock as the ghost of Johns voice whispered in his ear.

**BANG!**

Sherlock hissed in pain as the bullet tore though his right shoulder and he dropped to his knees, above him loomed the livid and grief stricken face of Christian Echoes, Sherlock felt physically sick as the ice cold barrel of a gun was pressed against his temple.

"How dare you! How dare you speak to me like that! I am so much better than Sebastian Moran! I just never got the chance to show Jim because he was always in the way! Always! I'm gonna shoot you now, then I'm gonna find Moran and I'm gonna shoot him too!" Christian spat the words into the air as if it was the whole worlds fault that Jim Moriarty preferred Sebastian Moran to him.

All the while, Christian had been talking Sherlock had slowly been moving his hand inside his coat to wrap his fingers around the hand gun he kept there.

Sherlock slowly raised the gun and squeezed the trigger. Christian's body flew backwards to land on the ground next to the drugged man.

Sherlock whipped round to try and find where Johns voice had come from but there was no sign of the short, blonde Army Doctor anywhere.

He sighed and checked he still had the envelope before striding away from the men to find the nearest doctor that would treat his shoulder wound.

He would tolerate other Doctors when he had to but he hated other people treating him, that was Johns job. Not long now and he can finally go back home, home to 221b, to Mrs Hudson, to Lestrade and crimes and most importantly to John. Although he would never admit it to anyone he missed John dearly and couldn't wait to get back to him.

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Thanks for reading! I love you all, and I can't wait to get the next chapter up! but bare with me my brain likes to pack up and go on holiday when I need it most! UGH! but never mind that i will cling to it and force it to produce more chapters! :D Oh and HAPPY NEW YEARS! xx


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